


We Belong to the Night

by Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Dark, F/F, Identity Issues, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory/pseuds/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You bring guys back to the penthouse to keep up appearances, but when you close your eyes, knuckles turning white around fistfuls of Egyptian cotton sheets, all you see is her, a blur of garish colors, crimson lips and chartreuse curls and violet pinstripes as you writhe, tangled together on the ground in dirty alleyways, cold rain beading on your second skins, Kevlar and grease paint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Belong to the Night

She’s beautiful. The most dangerous things always are. The first time you see her with the thick layers of makeup and the sickly green dye all washed away her hair falls in golden waves over one side of her face hiding the scars. For a moment you see someone else and you feel nothing. 

You crave her ugliness. The Joker smells of plastique and stale sweat and she tastes nauseatingly sweet. You felt your teeth rotting away as she kissed you. She’s too corrosive, too filthy to touch with anything but gloved fingers. 

She kissed you because she could. It was a point of weakness, your lips still vulnerable even in your armor. It’s just another game to her. She was as dry as chalk when you finally caught her, bent her over the hood of the batmobile, and pushed those purple trousers down. There was a dark place in your soul that wanted it that way.

“You’re getting a little, ah, overzealous with the cavity searches, Batsss,” she hissed as you forced eight inches of silicone as black as sin into her. “I should have a chat with the police commissioner. I got rights, you know.”

You groaned, grinding your swollen clit hard against the butt of the toy, the weapon, as you fucked her. “Who’s going to believe you, Clown?” you taunted softly in her ear. “You’re ‘crazy'.”

She laughed, the sound reverberating through your body. You came like no man has ever been able to make you come, the pleasure so intense that you knew it would drive you mad or kill you.

You bring guys back to the penthouse to keep up appearances, but when you close your eyes, knuckles turning white around fistfuls of Egyptian cotton sheets, all you see is her, a blur of garish colors, crimson lips and chartreuse curls and violet pinstripes as you writhe, tangled together on the ground in dirty alleyways, cold rain beading on your second skins, Kevlar and grease paint. 

“Come up and see me sometime, Batsy, Baby, _Blair_ ,” she purred in your ear just before they took her away.

Blair Wayne has her secrets, but when you don the cowl you have your own. You lie to yourself. You pretend you don’t like the violence, the chaos, the mayhem, but you live for it, the feel of your gauntleted fist connecting solidly with that leering smirk. She knows. You hate her most for that. She sees right through you to your own ugliness, green fire illuminating the blackness of your soul. 

She haunts your daydreams and your nightmares. Her darkness calls to yours, a symphony in silent shadowed streets, laughter echoing only in your head. 

_Jacqueline_. Madness has a name, she has a story, and she looks beautiful in the harsh, flickering light of Arkham. These are the real masks, the ones you wear by day. She simpers at her new psychiatrist and he eats it up. What was his name? Something ridiculous. You loathed him instantly, blond, chiseled, and as patronizing as every other top-of-his-class Ivy League man you’ve ever known, but you didn’t show it, prattling on about some charity event to benefit the victims’ families. 

She’s not fooling you. You know her game. You play it better. Beautiful women aren’t taken seriously. Let them believe you’re an empty-headed socialite. Let them call you a slut. Give the gossip rags what they want so they never look any deeper. No one will ever suspect. Blair Wayne fucks men, lots of men, not murderesses, not madwomen. You are not Blair Wayne. You are the Dark Knight. 


End file.
